


Storm

by Ferith12



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 10:06:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferith12/pseuds/Ferith12
Summary: Duncan and quickenings.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiveAndLetRain (CaraLee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraLee/gifts).

The first time it comes unexpected, with shock and grief and confusion. He is, himself so small, and the storm that fills him so large. Lightning strikes out of nowhere, sound and sight uncomprehending. Rocks fall, but he has no space to notice them. Something inside him is changed irrevocably. He is almost overwhelmed by it, this stranger, the first man he’s had a conversation with in so long, who has lived and killed and is so much more than his solitary self. He thinks that he screams, but he cannot be sure, he cannot hear his own voice over the roaring chaos, cannot feel it ripping from his throat as his whole body is engulfed, as his very being feels as though it is torn apart. But he holds to himself, is not washed away in the tide, and he breathes, breathes, breathes until he is kneeling in the silence, surrounded by a ring of fire, flickering out.

The second time he is in the woods at night and it is raining, the green smell bright in the damp air. He feels the immortal coming and draws his sword. He has been taught now, and he is ready, nervous, but too cocky to be truly afraid.

It is a head hunter, skilled, but looking for an easy kill. It is a proper duel, both of them announce themselves in a clearing under the waning moon, peeking at them from among the clouds.

They fight. The ground is damp beneath their feet, and water runs into their eyes. Lightning flashes on their blades, still distant, thunder a soft rumble.

His opponent slips in the mud, and he brings his blade down. The rain seems to stand still, the water to rise from the ground, mist swirls round him and lightning strikes, deafening. He is not surprised by this time, his opponent is younger and has taken fewer quickenings than the old hermit, but still he is unprepared. He turns his head up towards the hidden moon and screams as the quickening courses through him, until at last the winds die down, and the lighting stutters to a stop.

The second time is followed by a third, the third by a fourth, and on and on uncountable. To live is to fight. He had known this even before he died.

He strikes the final blow and the quickening comes as a matter of course. He still screams with the force of it, lost in the headiness of his power, but it is only a blip in the well of his experience, a minor inconvenience. The fight was a quick and trivial thing. His opponent filled with pride and malice but little skill, easily forgotten. He stands as the chaos dissolves itself and walks on his way.

He has a storm in his veins. He is so used to it that he forgets, but his wounds spark with the lighting he contains. He is a creature of chaos and power, as all immortals are. Yet he is a storm that does not lightly destroy, but is generous with the kindness of its rains. 


End file.
